


Control

by Miko



Category: Weiß Kreuz
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2006-01-02
Updated: 2006-01-02
Packaged: 2017-10-21 09:44:51
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,546
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/223811
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Miko/pseuds/Miko
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ran surprises Omi with Christmas dinner, and maybe a little something more.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Control

The soft sound of clacking keys was the only sound in the tiny Tokyo apartment. No garish Christmas carols here, and the expensive soundproofing Omi had installed prevented the sound of his neighbours' radios from reaching him.

That hadn't been the original intention of the soundproofing, of course, but as an unexpected side benefit it was about the best Christmas present Omi could have asked for. There was nothing worse than overplayed, _badly_ played Christmas music to ruin your concentration.

For a moment the sound of the keys paused, and Omi reached for his mug of tea as his eyes scanned the lines of code he'd written. This had been a special order, a favour called in by someone he owed, but he was still getting paid very well for working on it over Christmas. Omi had neglected to mention that he really didn't need an inducement to treat Christmas like a normal workday; if his contact wanted to throw money at him to assuage his own guilt, Omi certainly wasn't going to turn it down.

The only thing that was different about Christmas for him was that he could be guaranteed to hear from all three of his old teammates. The young man's expression softened into a smile not that different from the cheer he'd once constantly projected, but a great deal more genuine. The former Weiss team had gone far and wide in pursuit of their lives after leaving Kritiker, but they were still close in the way that only people who have killed together can be. He'd already gotten a call from Ken in Australia and Youji in America, and it had been _good_ to talk to them again. Hearing for himself how happy they were in their new lives was an even better Christmas present than the soundproofing.

He didn't expect to hear from Ran until much later in the day. The older man would be celebrating with his little sister in their new home in Kyoto, now their third Christmas since Aya-chan had woken up. Omi didn't begrudge the girl her beloved brother's attention on a day like today. Ran would call later, after dinner.

Unexpectedly, though, he was almost done his work on this project. Cracking the security on the systems that held the information he needed hadn't proved as difficult as he'd expected. He only had one more to do, and it wouldn't take him more than another few hours. After that he would be at loose ends, and he wouldn't even be able to give the disks to his contact for another two days. He didn't have anything else lined up until next week, either.

Normally if he found himself with some free time he would go out and do something outside, get some fresh air and exercise. He hadn't allowed himself to get out of shape, of course, but there was a difference between scheduled dojo visits and getting out to just do something in the outdoors. No way in hell was he leaving the apartment on Christmas day, though. The crowds would be ridiculous. The Japanese as a whole and Tokyo in particular tended to go more than a little overboard on celebrating a holiday that for them really was nothing more than a commercial opportunity.

Sighing, he set the mug down and stretched, carefully working out the kinks in his neck. He'd give himself a few minutes to rest his eyes and reset his brain, and then he'd get back to work. He'd worry about what he was going to do with the rest of the day once he was done.

He'd just settled his mind into one of the relaxation meditations he knew when he heard shuffling footsteps outside his door, and snapped back to full awareness. The door was the one thing not fully soundproofed, because he wanted to be able to hear people approaching. It could have been one of his neighbours of course, except Omi had the unit at the end of the hallway. There should have been no reason for anyone to come as far as his door unless they were coming to him.

The footsteps stopped, and the sound that came next was not so much a knock as a muffled thump. Curious despite himself, Omi reached down and silently drew his gun from the holster hanging off the back of his chair. He'd bought it before the ink was even dry on the paperwork officially releasing him from Kritiker, and it was an old friend. The familiar weight of the grip was comforting in his hand, and he already knew it was loaded. It was always loaded.

Since leaving Kritiker and getting out of the wetwork side of the business, it was less likely for him to make enemies that would actually try to kill him. That didn't mean there weren't any, or that there might not be people with long memories and old grudges who might have found him. Cursing mentally Omi slipped out of the chair and moved along the wall towards the side of the door, carefully staying out of line of fire should someone decide to open up _through_ the door. This was the reason he constantly wished he could have afforded somewhere that wouldn't put innocent neighbours in the potential crossfire, but there was nothing he could do about it.

Standing with his back pressed to the wall beside the door, his breathing quiet and even, Omi steadied the gun in front of his face, pointing up. If the unknown person outside was actually able to kick the steel-reinforced door down, he would find Omi's gun levelled at him before he'd so much as taken a single step inside.

Again the odd muffled thumping came, and from this close Omi could hear a strangle rustling as well. It sounded like thin plastic sheeting of some kind, and his brow creased in bewilderment. What on earth?

There was a sigh, and what sounded like someone muttering curses to themselves, then they raised their voice. "Omi, it's Ran. Open the damn door before the bags break and I drop something."

Blinking in shock, Omi stared at the door as the gun wavered slightly. Ran? It certainly _sounded_ like him. But Ran was in Kyoto with Aya-chan. There was no way he would willingly leave his little sister alone on Christmas day. Which meant that either wasn't Ran, or he wasn't there willingly.

If it was Ran and he was being forced to try to get Omi to open the door, then he should have used one of the code phrases to indicate that. He hadn't, but for all Omi knew that was only because he couldn't remember any of them. It _had_ been almost three years.

"Just a second, the lock is sticking," Omi called, his eyes narrowed. It was another old code phrase from their days in Weiss; hopefully with that prompting Ran would remember the correct responses.

There was silence for a moment, and then he heard a snort that sounded like it was a mix of amusement and exasperation. "I told you to oil it more often," Ran replied. "I can't believe you're still so paranoid."

Well, the first part of that had been the correct response, anyway. If the older man had been trying to get Omi to open the door under duress, he'd have replied 'You should take better care of it.'

Now thoroughly bewildered and more than a little curious, Omi lowered the gun and moved to unlock the door. The sight that met him as he swung it open was about as far from anything he'd expected to see that day as was possible. Ran stood in the hallway loaded down with plastic shopping bags that were full to bursting. Well, that explained both the rustling and the odd thumping knock; with his hands full, Ran had been _kicking_ at the door in order to knock on it.

Bemused, Omi stood aside and let the man stagger into the apartment. "What are you doing here?" he asked.

"Well, that's a good way to greet an old friend on Christmas," Ran chuckled, dumping the bags onto Omi's low kotatsu table in the centre of the room. "Did you really think someone might have forced me to try to lure you out?"

"It was the only explanation I could think of for why you'd be _here_ and not home with Aya-chan," Omi pointed out, setting the safety back on the gun and returning it to the holster. "And unlike the three of you I'm still in the business, remember? I can't afford not to be paranoid. What _is_ all this?"

He'd half expected an entreaty to find a way to support himself that didn't involve being on the wrong side of the law. Ken begged him to get into something 'less risky' almost every time they spoke, and Youji was forever lecturing him about not throwing his whole life away staying in the shadows.

He should have known better, though. Ran's violet eyes met his steadily, and the older man just nodded. "Fair enough," he said, with no trace of disappointment or reproach in his deep voice. "I'd rather have you paranoid than dead. How are things going?"

With a sigh of relief that he wasn't in for a scolding about his career choice, Omi sat across the table from him, peering at him over the mound of bags. "Well enough," he said, shrugging. "I've got enough work to keep me busy, and plenty of personal projects if I get bored." He grinned. "I've finally made enough of a name for myself as a solo contractor that I can pick and choose my jobs. You didn't answer my questions, though. What is all this, and why are you here?" His expression turned anxious. "Is everything okay with Aya-chan?"

"She's fine," Ran assured him. "Her boyfriend invited her to his family dinner at the last moment, so I found myself at loose ends. I tried to call but your phone was busy. I figured that meant you were home at least, so I headed over."

"You're letting her date?" The last of Omi's anxiety slipped away, and he relaxed fully as he laughed. "I would have expected you to chain her up the moment the boys started sniffing around her. Or at least contact me to see if I could take care of them for you." He would never have made that joke to Ken or Youji, but as he'd just been reminded Ran was the one who actually understood some of why Omi had chosen not to leave the business entirely.

"I was tempted, believe me," Ran said dryly. "A time or two I've caught myself wondering if my katana is still fit for use in battle. Especially with the second boyfriend, he was a little punk. This one isn't so bad, though, and his family loves her."

Unspoken between them was the knowledge that as much as Ran loved his sister, and as hard as he tried to provide for her, she still missed having her parents around. "I'm sure she's having a great time, then," Omi said softly. "You know you're welcome here, any time. But that still doesn't explain all this," he gestured at the bags piled on the table.

Slowly Ran smiled. In the days they'd worked together Omi couldn't remember ever having seen the redhead really smile, but with Aya-chan back in his life it was a relatively frequent occurrence. Omi's heart skipped a beat, and he was reminded why he'd always considered Ran to be the most attractive of his teammates.

Shoving aside the inappropriate thoughts, Omi lifted an eyebrow at him in return. Now he was really curious.

"I'd already planned to make Christmas dinner," Ran said, shrugging. "I didn't see any reason to change my plans. Especially since if I know you at all, you were probably going to work straight through dinner, remember the need to eat some time around eleven o'clock, and order Chinese takeout. That's no way to spend Christmas."

"I was going to do no such thing," Omi replied mildly. The older man really did know him too well, he reflected. Ran was, after all, the only member of Weiss who'd ever guessed that 'bouncy, bubbly teenager' wasn't all there was to their leader. "I hate Chinese, you know that. I would have ordered pizza."

Laughing, Ran stood and ruffled Omi's hair affectionately. There were only three people in the world who could do that and not get a knife embedded somewhere unpleasant; luckily he was one of them. "I'm sure you've got work to do," he said as he reached for one of the bags. "Don't let me keep you. Dinner will be around six, so try not to be too deep into something you can't extricate yourself from."

Once more thoroughly bemused, Omi watched as the older man bustled into the tiny closet that passed for his kitchen. He'd never really associated the redhead with any sort of domesticity. Then again, Ran _had_ spent the last three years trying to create a good home for Aya-chan, so maybe he'd learned. "Do you actually know how to cook, or should I be readying the fire extinguisher?" he called, leaning his elbows on the table and propping his chin in his hands. "I seem to recall that Youji and I were the only ones who could follow a recipe."

"Aya taught me," came the half-expected reply, sounding wry. "She insisted that just because she was the girl, she was _not_ going to be stuck taking care of the house by herself. Denying my sister anything was problematic at the best of times, and she's only gotten better at persuading me."

"At wrapping you around her little finger, you mean," Omi snorted in amusement. "It's a good thing she's already mostly grown. If she'd been much younger when you became her guardian she'd have been spoiled rotten by the time she was an adult. You never had any trouble saying 'no' to the fangirls." He paused and added thoughtfully, "Actually, I take that back. You were bad at saying 'no' to Sakura-chan, too. Never mind."

Popping his head back into the main room, his long braid dangling over his shoulder, Ran glared at him in a good approximation of his old familiar scowl. "Go work, and leave me to cook in peace."

Lips twitching, Omi stared back at him. Unfortunately he decided it wasn't worth his life to be able to make the joke that sprang to mind about how much Ran sounded like a long-suffering housewife. Looked like one too, come to think of it, with the way he'd grown his hair out. Coughing to cover the snicker that did escape him, Omi fled back to the sanctuary of his desk.

At first it was nearly impossible to concentrate on his work with the unfamiliar sound of banging and muttering behind him. Omi poked around, not daring to get into anything that would require real concentration while he was so twitchy. In Weiss he'd always done his hacking work either in his room or down in the mission room, where he couldn't hear what the others were doing to distract him.

Finally he put headphones on and cranked the volume on his music up. He didn't do this very often, not liking the idea that he wouldn't be able to hear what was going on around him, but when he was really stuck on a line of tricky code it sometimes would help him concentrate. For now it drowned out the sounds of Ran in the kitchen, and when push came to shove he trusted Ran to stand watch and warn him if anything went wrong. He was finally able to get to work.

As usual he quickly lost himself in the intricate weave of the code, totally unaware of time passing as he worked his way deeper through the levels of security on the system he needed to get into. It was an art, and one he loved. The thing he was never able to explain to Youji or Ken was that it wasn't a need for money or 'not knowing anything else' that kept him from turning respectable. It was that this is what he was good at, where his strengths lay, and what he most loved doing. Now that he was his own master and didn't have to go out and kill people as part of his assignments, he wouldn't have traded his job for anything else in the world.

When he finally stopped typing and looked around again, he wasn't surprised to see that it was pitch black outside his windows. Night came early at this time of year, and it had taken him longer to get through that last layer of security than he'd thought it would. His shoulders were one massive knot as he leaned back in his chair and let his hands fall away from the keyboard.

Reaching for the dregs of his tea, he nearly spilled it when he realized the cup was actually full and _warm_. Only then did he notice the succulent smell of roast turkey that had saturated the entire apartment, and with a start he remembered his houseguest.

"Good timing," Ran commented from where he sat at the kotatsu, flipping idly through one of Omi's computer magazines. "Dinner will be ready in about ten minutes." Glancing up and seeing Omi's astonished look, he grinned and added, "I recognized the signs of you about to emerge from trance and got you a fresh cup of tea. Who did you think was the one leaving food nearby for you to find whenever you were done working in the mission room?"

"Actually, I always assumed it was Ken," Omi blurted out without thinking. "He's the mother-hen of the group." And Ran had always been so antisocial to his teammates, refusing to get close or let them near him at all. If anyone had told him back then that his surly teammate even knew what his favourite kind of sandwich was, let alone was leaving them for him to eat when he emerged from a fugue of hacking, he'd have been shocked.

There was a brief flash of hurt in the older man's eyes, but it was replaced by reluctant amusement before Omi had a chance to say anything. "I suppose that's only to be expected," the redhead admitted with a wry grin. "Considering I went out of my way to keep anyone from realizing how much I tended to hover over you when you were working and oblivious to the world."

"You what?" Now truly flabbergasted, Omi just stared at him. Slowly a blush crept across his cheeks, and he cursed his fair skin. Damn it, all that blushing when he'd been in Weiss had been a cover, he wasn't supposed to do it for _real_! He'd killed his blush reflex years before any of his teammates had ever met him. Only Ran had ever been able to startle a true blush out of him.

The thought that Ran had watched over him while he worked was... comforting, though. For all that he'd been the last to join them and the least willing to treat Weiss as a group of friends rather than a team of professionals, Omi had always trusted the redhead just a bit more than any of the others. It was something in his eyes, he'd decided after long contemplation. A sense of a kindred spirit, perhaps. Like Omi, Ran had taken to the shadows like a man who'd found his natural environment. The fact that he'd since left them in order to provide a brighter life for Aya-chan didn't change the darkness of his basic nature.

And unlike Ken and Youji, Ran had always recognized that 'darkness' and 'evil' were not the same things. Omi had often described Weiss as a 'necessary evil' to Ken and Youji to assuage their consciences, but the truth was that he'd always believed that Weiss had simply been 'necessary'.

Turning away before his eyes gave away too much of his thoughts, Omi sipped at his tea. His hand was shaking slightly, he noted with a frown. It was mostly tension; the knots in his neck were making it hard to move his shoulders easily. He'd been sitting in one position for far too long without any breaks. He knew better than that, damn it. He just kept forgetting when he was actually in the middle of working.

"I'm right behind you," Ran murmured, his deep voice sliding over Omi like quiet silk. He shivered, then jumped as strong hands came to rest on his shoulders. Because Ran had spoken to warn him first, it was _only_ a jump, and not a reflexive attack.

Tilting his head back, he looked up at the older man wryly. "How do you know to do that?" he asked curiously. "Any of the others would have just come up and touched me without thinking about it, and I might have taken their head off by accident."

"No you wouldn't," the redhead asserted, and Omi frowned and opened his mouth to argue. Before he could get a word out Ran tightened his hands, pressing his thumbs into the mass of knotted muscle, and Omi's words trailed off in a groan. "They would never have been able to surprise you. You wouldn't have let yourself lose track of exactly where they were."

That was true, Omi reflected through the haze of agonized pleasure the older man was coaxing from his shoulders. For a moment he worried that it meant he was losing his instincts, that he'd let Ran sneak up on him like that, but he finally decided it was only because he trusted the man to know better than to startle him.

Then he lost the ability to think at all as one of the major knots released itself. He slumped into the chair, unable to even contemplate moving as long as Ran kept rubbing his shoulders like that. Bit by bit he felt himself relaxing, felt blood rushing into places in his back that had been constricted for far longer than was healthy.

When the redhead's long fingers worked their way up to the back of his neck and eased the pressure that had been causing a headache he hadn't even been consciously aware of, Omi moaned. "Where did you learn how to do that?" he murmured as Ran withdrew his hands, ruffling his hair briefly before moving to the side of the desk so Omi could see him.

"My mother used to get horrible migraines," Ran admitted, leaning against the desk and crossing his arms. "Aya-chan and I both learned to help her." He hesitated, then glanced away and added, "I thought about offering, several times, but..." Clearing his throat, he stood again and tilted his head in the direction of the table. "Go sit. I'll bring the food out."

Rocking his head from side to side to test his new and improved range of motion, Omi watched him go. 'Flee', he might almost have said, as if Ran had been embarrassed by the conversation and wanted to escape it. He'd 'thought about offering'? Back in Weiss, presumably. It would have broken his facade of emotionless vengeful killer, though, which was presumably why this was the first example Omi had of his friend's talent with his hands.

Ruefully Omi admitted privately that it was probably just as well. One thing Kritiker had never been able to train out of him was teenage hormones, and if Ran had ever touched him like that back then Omi probably would have embarrassed himself.

He had much better control now, thankfully. Taking a deep breath and consigning his overactive imagination to the depths of his mind, Omi stood and moved to the kitchen. "Can I help you carry anything?" he asked, his eyes sweeping over the food with a sense of awe. Where had all that come from? How had he _cooked_ it all in Omi's tiny excuse for a kitchen?

"If you like," Ran said, shoving a platter at him. "Here, take this out. I should have just hauled you back to Kyoto with me so we'd have a proper sized table. Half of this is going to have to sit on the floor."

Snickering, Omi took the proffered plate of turkey and carried it to the table. "Good thing I don't have a cat, I guess," he said lightly as he put the food down and went back for more. "We'd be fighting it off with a stick."

Chuckling, Ran handed him the next plate. Between the two of them they managed to get it all out to the table, and from somewhere Omi hauled out his actual tableware instead of the plastic plates and cups he generally used. By the time they sat across from each other at the low table, he was really starting to feel like it might be Christmas after all.

They were mostly quiet as they ate, talking of inconsequentials and generally catching up with each other. The food was excellent and Omi said as much, rather enthusiastically. He'd gotten heartily sick of takeout, but he never seemed to have the time or inclination to make anything else.

"You should come visit more often," Ran said as they lingered over the store-made pecan pie he'd brought for desert and small cups of sake. "Aya-chan hardly seems to be home any more, between school and her friends and boyfriend. I'm sure she'd be delighted to see you on the nights she was there, and I'd certainly enjoy the company. It's not that far by train, if you take the Hikari line."

"I can't, Ran," Omi said with genuine regret. "Frankly I'm surprised you'd even make the invitation. Isn't that the whole reason you left the business, because you didn't want Aya-chan to be in danger? If I start making frequent trips to Kyoto, sooner or later someone is going to pay attention and realize there are people I care about there. I don't want either of you being used as a hostage."

"Bullshit," came the frank and unexpected reply. Startled, Omi stared as the redhead glared at him. "That's bullshit, Omi, and you know it," Ran said again. "If you were really that worried about potential hostages, you'd have deliberately lost contact with all of us. It wouldn't have been that hard to do. Oh, I'll grant you that Ken and Youji are probably safely out of range where they are, and I'm sure you take pains to make sure your calls to them aren't traced or tapped. But you told us all where you live, you didn't object when I showed up here today, and you're right that if I thought there was a good chance Aya-chan might be hurt, I wouldn't have offered."

"I'd have expected you to say 'slightest chance'," Omi said, his voice shaking a bit. He was stalling for time, trying to process this sudden and bewildering outburst. Ran had set him on his ear a few times today, and Omi was starting to dislike the sensation.

"Once, I would have," Ran agreed, leaning back. Only then did Omi realize the older man had leaned forward intently to drive his point home. "When Aya-chan woke up, however, I had to make a choice. Avoiding the 'slightest chance' of danger would have meant staying away from her, making her believe I was dead, and never seeing her again. After all, I'm sure I made my share of enemies, both in Weiss and before that when I was working solo."

His pale grey-violet eyes speared through Omi. "Of course, if I really wanted her safe, I should have prayed she would stay in the coma. I've got no way of protecting her from drunk drivers or accidents or boys who won't take 'no' for an answer, or really just about anything at all. So I decided to do my best to prevent any reasonable danger, and do what I could to just be with her."

Closing his eyes, Omi was forced to acknowledge that. Wasn't it exactly the dilemma he'd faced over and over with Weiss, trying to keep them all safe and intact but still get their job done? As hard as he'd tried, as much as he'd planned, there had still been mistakes and surprises. There had still been injuries, sometimes serious ones, even on missions that should have been routine.

"It's been over two years, Omi," Ran continued, more gently. "Anyone planning to come after you for what you did in Kritiker would have done so already - and they'd be coming for me as well, anyway. What you're doing now doesn't tend to garner the sort of murderous enemies being an assassin does. If it's safe enough for me to come over and surprise you with Christmas dinner, then it's safe enough for you to come visit once in a while. You know it as well as I do. So what's really stopping you?"

"Coming from someone who once did his level best to keep the rest of us at arm's length - if you define the length of an arm to be approximately the length of a city block - I find that rather ironic," Omi said, opening his eyes again. The look on Ran's face nearly broke him; he'd expected irritation or exasperation. Instead he saw concern and a metaphorical hand extended in genuine friendship. He looked away quickly before his own expression gave him away.

"Why do you think I'm the only one who's noticed what you're doing?" Ran retorted, not letting up in the least. "I did it myself once, trying to pull away from the world and keep anyone from getting close. Ken pushed and pushed and only drove me further away, and Youji would have left me to freeze thinking it was what I truly wanted. You were the one who kept refusing to give up on me, reminding me again and again that you were there if I needed you."

"I didn't do anything," Omi asserted. Had he? He'd worried, as he worried over all his teammates. They were his responsibility, and he'd always taken his responsibilities seriously. That was why Persia had made him a field leader at such a young age. Of course, in the throws of his first crush Ran's opinion had always mattered a great deal to him; it was why he'd been so hurt when the man turned away from him after discovering he was a Takatori.

He'd always tried to balance his desire to be close to the man with the need to remain objective as the leader, and the man's own wishes not to be pushed. When, after everything was over, Ran had chosen to remain in contact with him despite leaving to create a new life with Aya-chan, Omi had counted himself successful. In time the pain of his crush had faded, and if anyone had asked Omi who his closest friend was these days, he'd have said it was Ran without even hesitating.

Even so, he wasn't all that close to the older man. It wasn't that Omi was solitary by nature, because he _wasn't_. The were days when the ache of missing Weiss was so fierce it was a physical pain, and he'd never been happier in his life than during the two years he'd spent with them all. He just couldn't bear the thought that anyone he loved would ever be hurt again because he couldn't protect them.

"It won't work," Ran said bluntly now, surprising Omi into looking at him again. "It won't work, Omi. Take it from someone who tried it. If you actually manage to succeed in cutting yourself off from everyone else, you'll end up no better than the people we once hunted. You know it, too - that's why you allow yourself to stay in contact with us. You need people, Omi. At least you know I can take care of myself if push comes to shove."

"And if I tell you to leave?" Omi asked, his voice once again level and his eyes showing nothing of his inner turmoil. He'd regained his outward control, at least. He really didn't need this, damn it, and not from Ran of all people.

"Then I'll leave you be," Ran shrugged. Omi tried to tell himself that was _not_ a spear of disappointment that had just lanced through him. Whatever the emotion was, it froze inside him when Ran slowly smiled. "For now," he amended. "I'll probably be back on your birthday. Living with Aya has reminded me how important it is not to cut yourself off, and other than her you're the most important person in my life. I won't push - too much - but I'm not going to give up on you either."

"Why?" Omi asked, and there was a great deal more raw emotion behind the word than he'd intended there to be. Ran's declaration of his importance had wrenched something he'd thought long since safely buried, and it made keeping his control harder than it should have been. "Damn it Ran, you're already my friend. What more do you want?"

Was it his imagination, or did Ran actually blush faintly as he hesitated? His violet eyes searched Omi's expression, for what he wasn't sure. Omi just looked back, struggling to hide his own thoughts and emotions and knowing he was failing miserably.

"I want," Ran finally said deliberately, "to know what there is between us. No matter what, I was never able to ignore you. I could push you away, I even deliberately hurt you to try to make you leave me alone, but you drew me in a way I could never ignore. If not for that, by the time Aya woke I think I would have been too lost in myself to even be able to properly care for her."

Omi's breath caught as Ran's eyes seemed to heat from within, scorching him. No, it was his imagination. It had to be. There was no way...

"You're not my leader any more, Omi," Ran said, his voice soft. "And while I'm well aware that you were never a child in the time that I knew you, we're both adults now as well. Did I imagine the way you looked at me, back then? Is it too late to ask?"

There hadn't been nearly enough sake in that tiny bottle to get two men tipsy, let alone drunk, but that was the way Omi felt. His head was swimming, and he felt oddly flushed. His heart was pounding in his chest, and he shook his head silently. This couldn't be happening. He'd fallen asleep over his keyboard and this whole surreal day was a dream.

"Omi." Once again Ran spoke to warn him before touching him. It wasn't until he felt the older man's strong fingers trace his cheek that Omi realized he'd closed his eyes. When he opened them again Ran was much closer than he should have been; at some point he'd moved around the table to kneel next to Omi. "If I was wrong, tell me so now and I'll never mention it again. Though I will still try to get you out of your self-imposed shell a little more often."

 _Yes, you were wrong._ It should have been so easy to say it. He'd spent a decade perfecting his ability to play any role, to lie convincingly no matter the circumstances. He even opened his mouth, confident that he could play this role as easily as any other. It was necessary, for his protection and for Ran's and his sister's.

Somehow the signal from his brain got scrambled on the way to his mouth, though, because the only part that came out was "Yes." Then he leaned up, only truly realizing how close Ran had gotten when he only needed to cross a couple of inches to close the distance between them.

Then they were kissing, and Omi forgot about words entirely. Contrary to what he was sure both Ken and Youji - and possibly Ran - believed, he wasn't an innocent. He'd had some training in Kritiker; seduction was an age-old method of extracting information, after all, though thankfully Youji had always been able to fulfill that role when it was needed on a mission. Beyond that he'd deliberately sought out a few encounters with members of both sexes once he was out of Weiss, wanting to know what it was like. He'd eventually decided that without some kind of emotional bond as well as the physical he got just as much satisfaction from his own hand, and stopped worrying about it. Emotional entanglements were the last thing he wanted, after all.

With Ran the emotions were already well in place, however. Years of trust and comradeship had been built between them, in Weiss and over the time since. It was everything Omi had instinctively sensed was lacking in his other encounters, and more. As Ran's lips moved firmly over his, he felt himself shivering beneath the onslaught of sensation.

Hesitation and uncertainty were left behind as Omi reached up and wound his arms around the taller man's neck. Gods, how often had he dreamed of this? How many illicit fantasies had he entertained of sneaking into Ran's bedroom in the night to seduce him, or setting up a mission that would require them to pretend to be a couple for whatever reason? Reality was so far beyond his dreams it would have been laughable, except he didn't have the breath to laugh.

When his moan was echoed back to him, the sound vibrating in Ran's chest where it was pressed against his, it only seemed natural. "Ran," he gasped as the older man pulled away for air. "Oh gods."

"You're shaking," Ran noted, sounding startled. "Are you all right?"

"I... I don't know," Omi admitted. "I shouldn't... I shouldn't be..." How had it gotten so hard to think? What happened to the ability to think rationally through just about anything that he'd worked so hard to develop over the last years?

"Stop that," Ran chided him. "It's not a matter of 'should' or 'shouldn't'. What do you _want_?"

"I want you," Omi forced himself to say, his throat raw with the painful honesty of it. "But Ran, if we do this, then..."

"No." The firm tone of command in the older man's voice left Omi gaping. Staring into the fierce violet eyes from inches away, Omi was reminded of why he'd always chosen Ran as secondary leader if the group had been forced to split on a mission. Despite his hotheaded tendencies, Ran had an aura of command that both Youji and Ken had never failed to respond to.

"No," he said again, drawing back a bit more. "No conditions, no restrictions, no stipulations. Either you trust me enough to know that I won't do anything against your best interests, or this is never going to work and we might as well stop right now before we ruin our friendship over it."

"But!" Omi protested helplessly. He couldn't seem to get any more than that out in the face of Ran's unforgiving look. This was something the older man wasn't going to budge on, he sensed, and it left him floundering. If you didn't put conditions on things, how could you be even reasonably sure they would stay in check and not go horribly wrong?

When had this conversation gotten so far out of his control? He was beginning to suspect it might have been the moment he'd first heard the muffled thudding of Ran kicking his door. Had this been the man's plan all along? If so, Omi had to admit he'd been neatly outmanoeuvred.

"Can you agree to that?" Ran asked. This was an all or nothing question, Omi could tell. He wasn't going to be given a second chance, or even any time to think about it.

If he said 'yes', he was going to lose all semblance of control over the situation in short order. For all his attempts at an icy outward facade during his time in Kritiker, the redhead had always been an impetuous man of high passion, and he seemed determined to sweep Omi up in the same state. Willingly surrendering control like that went against everything Omi lived by.

If he said 'no', would he ever forgive himself?

"Yes," he whispered. Had there ever really been a choice? Ran kissed him again and he arched up into the touch with a moan.

Omi's hands itched to touch, to play over the smooth alabaster skin he knew was hidden under the redhead's clothes. Ran seemed more amused than anything by his attempts to get under his shirt. Pulling away, the older man stripped off his sweater, giving Omi access to the buttoned shirt beneath it.

"Yes," Omi said again, but this time it was more of an entreaty. His hands, steady when dealing with the most dangerous poisons or the trickiest bits of code, were fumbling with a simple set of buttons. A frustrated and slightly feral look crossed his face. "Remind me again why I shouldn't just draw my knife and cut my way through this?"

To his surprise Ran shivered under his touch, and when he looked up the heat in those violet eyes nearly scorched him. "I don't know. Why shouldn't you?"

Omi stared at him for one more moment, just to be certain that no, he wasn't imagining things and yes, Ran had meant exactly what he'd said. Then his hand flashed to the sheath at the small of his back, drawing the thin-bladed knife he kept behind his belt. It was small, meant to escape a casual pat-down and mostly used for emergencies or to strip wires in a pinch. The blade was sharp enough to split a hair, though, and more than enough to cut through the fine cotton of Ran's shirt.

The material parted with a whisper as he drew the blade down the older man's chest, and he could see the tiny tremors in Ran's body as he fought to hold still. It was desire, not fear; at the first hint of fear Omi would have pulled away, putting the knife back in its sheath and shoving his darker side away as well.

This wasn't some innocent, unsuspecting person Omi had picked up at a club, though. Ran had killed beside him, with him and for him, and Omi had done the same. They'd both seen each other spattered in the blood of another human being, both seen the cold darkness radiating from the other's eyes in the moment after a kill.

There was something amazingly freeing about not having to hide such a significant part of himself from his lover, Omi discovered as he met Ran's eyes. The knife paused briefly at the waist of the man's slacks, and then a spark of brighter heat in the violet depths prompted Omi to continue to draw the blade downwards.

He should have been watching what he was doing, really. Making a mistake in this area would end the night's fun more than a little prematurely. Without moving or saying a word, though, Ran had pinned him in place, locking their gazes together and refusing to let Omi look away.

Instead he brought up his other hand, flattening his palm over the bulge of Ran's erection to help him guide the knife. The choked little noise the redhead made only spurred him on, and he flicked the blade away with a flourish.

Finally Ran closed his eyes, freeing Omi to look down. The older man was kneeling beside him in seiza, his knees parted to give him better balance as he leaned over Omi and to grant Omi more access with the knife. His shirt was hanging from his shoulders in a clean fall of fine cotton, making the skin beneath look flushed against the crisp white fabric despite the pale tone of the redhead's complexion.

His slacks were gaping to one side of the crotch, like a fly that had been sewn on out of place and then left open. The fabric of his briefs beneath was cut in a few places, but not cleanly through like the slacks had been. Omi couldn't help the teasing note that sprang to his voice. "My, my, what would Youji say?" he murmured, running his fingers over the smooth material, nudging the heavier fabric of the slacks out of the way. "Our resident ice cube wears red silk briefs. You _were_ planning this, weren't you?"

"I knew what I wanted," Ran admitted, opening his eyes again as his cock jumped under Omi's exploring hand. "Planning might be too strong a word for it. Well thought out strategies were your hallmark, not mine."

Chuckling, Omi slipped the knife back into its sheath and ran his hands up over Ran's chest beneath the open shirt. His sensitive fingers picked out a multitude of ridges and puckers, the roadmap of a life lived not entirely in the light. He remembered most of these, as he remembered every injury his team had ever taken. He'd dressed more than a few of them himself, and he remembered fighting the urge to linger over the less serious ones, when he wasn't actually worried for the man's health.

Now he could linger and explore as much as he wanted, and he was determined to make up for missed opportunities. Ran was remarkably responsive, shuddering and gasping under his ministrations and making it easy for Omi to find the places that made him feel the most pleasure.

Then, just when he was starting to feel in control of the situation again, Ran neatly turned the tables on him once more. He'd forgotten how strong the man was, and also how quickly the swordsman could move when he put his mind to it. In the blink of an eye the redhead shifted and wrapped his arms around Omi, lifting him up to his chest and then standing with the younger man cradled against him.

Not easily, though. "You're heavier than you look," Ran grunted, much to Omi's amusement.

"You were expecting a delicate damsel?" the younger man asked with a snort. "You know how much muscle it took to draw that bow of mine; I remember you trying once. Did you think I'd let myself go soft just because I wasn't in that end of the business any more?"

"No, I remember," Ran said, a touch ruefully. "I just hadn't thought about it in terms of your weight. That is your bed in the corner, isn't it?"

"Yeah," Omi agreed, still grinning as Ran walked carefully over to the pile of rumpled blankets and pillows worked into a kind of nest on the futon. He rarely bothered to make it up, because then he just spent half an hour tossing and turning that night until he had everything back into his preferred cocoon-like state.

He'd half expected to be dropped, but Ran set him down as if he was made of precious glass. He started to reach up to pull the older man down after him, but stopped in shock as he felt cold metal tap against his collarbone. Glancing down, he saw in astonishment that Ran had somehow managed to draw his belt knife while setting him down, without Omi even noticing.

"You're overdressed," Ran said, his voice gruff. Omi shivered as he tilted the knife so it bit into the fabric of Omi's shirt, struggling to stay still so he wouldn't jostle Ran's hand.

He needn't have worried. The swordsman handled the blade as easily as if it had been his beloved katana, his hand rock-steady as he cut Omi's shirt right off him. Omi's eyes drifted closed as he felt the thin metal trace the seams of his shirt, passing over his skin close enough for him to feel it but never enough for it to so much as nick him.

"Gods, Ran," he gasped out when he felt the fabric fall away and the redhead lifted the knife at last. He opened his eyes, feeling like he was drowning in fire-framed violets as he looked up into Ran's gaze. "I want to touch you."

"Then I guess I'm the one who's overdressed," Ran said, setting the knife to one side as he stood and shrugged out of his shirt. Slowly his hands slid down his sides to his hips, and he began to push his ruined slacks off as well. "It occurs to me that leaving tomorrow might be a somewhat draughty affair," he noted with a small chuckle. "You've grown a bit, but I still don't think I'm going to fit anything of yours."

"Maybe I'll have to keep you, then," Omi replied breathlessly, his eyes fixed on the shimmer of red silk that was slowly revealed. He half sat and reached out, wanting to run his hands over the smooth fabric and smoother skin beneath.

"Take yours off first," Ran ordered him, stepping away. A moment later Omi realized, somewhat to his chagrin, that he was apparently no less susceptible to the man's aura of command than Ken and Youji had been. He hadn't even tried to pursue, just dropped his hand and started stripping off his jeans.

Once he was completely nude, he scrambled up onto his knees and reached for Ran again, drawing him down onto the futon as well. They kissed again, learning the feel and taste of each other's mouths in a heated burst of passion. Omi's hands drifted down over Ran's chest, then lower still to find the straining material of his briefs.

The cuts Omi had made were gaping, tearing further under the pressure caused by the man's solid erection. Trailing his fingers over the outline of it, Omi brushed over the skin he could get at through the cuts.

"Tease," Ran growled, and Omi laughed softly.

"You say that like it's a bad thing," he retorted, lifting his other hand. Catching the fabric in both hands on either side of a tear, he tugged hard. The silk parted right up to the elastic waist, then with a harder yank he snapped that too. Smoothing his hands down over the rougher skin of Ran's thigh, he coaxed the briefs down.

Shifting, Ran rid himself of the scrap of silk, and then they were both kneeling there totally bare to each other. No... not quite. With a smile born of half a hundred fantasies, Omi reached out and caught at the end of the redhead's long braid.

"I don't know why you grew your hair out," he said, his voice husky as he tugged at the band holding it together, "but it's been tormenting me for years now. I've wanted so badly to know what it would look like down."

"See for yourself," Ran invited, waiting until he'd pulled the band off and then shaking his head. The long silky locks slid out of the confining braid, tumbling down over the pale skin of the older man's back and shoulders in a spill of scarlet fire.

It was even more beautiful than Omi had always been certain it would be. Catching his breath, he reached out and stroked his hands through it, gathering a handful and lifting it to his cheek so he could rub his face against it. It even smelled good, like vanilla and oranges.

Ran took advantage of his preoccupation to kiss him again, coaxing him to lie back on the blankets. The feel of the man's hair sliding over his shoulders to curtain them both in a cloud of scented fire was enough to make Omi pant with need, squirming so he could feel it against his skin.

It wasn't until he tried to reach out and tangle his hands in it again that he realized Ran had pinned his wrists up above his head. Startled, he stared up at the older man, struggling against an instant reflexive need to fight his way free. From this position, the three methods that immediately sprang to mind to get himself loose all involved ending the fun for tonight and possibly forever.

"Trust," Ran reminded him, his deep voice no less smooth over Omi's skin than the slide of his hair. "Relax, Omi. You know I'm not going to hurt you."

"I don't like having my hands restrained," Omi replied tightly, twitching beneath him with the need to struggle.

"You don't like not being in control," Ran corrected him with a half smile. "Do you really think that I wouldn't let you go if you truly needed your hands free? Trust me, Omi."

Omi's attempt at further protest turned into an undignified squeak when Ran leaned down and bit at his nipple. It was hard enough to send shivers of pain through him along with the much greater feeling of pleasure, rough enough to remind him that the man above him belonged to the darkness every bit as much as he did.

He writhed, fighting as much as encouraging, and Ran's hand tightened over his wrists. Groaning, Omi arched into it when the older man moved to lick and nibble at the other nipple. "Ran," he panted, his tone making the word a plea.

"And here I always admired you for your patience," Ran murmured, his eyes glittering at Omi through his bangs. "What do you want, Omi? Other than your hands free."

Since that had been the first thing to spring to mind, Omi growled. "You," he said instead, closing his eyes and throwing his head back. "You, damn it, _do_ it and stop teasing me. I've waited too long for this already."

"As long as I have," Ran said, his voice dropping half an octave and going husky. Omi shivered again. "Do you have any idea how many days in the shop I spent watching you, so I could go upstairs to my room that night and jerk off thinking about you?"

"I don't know how we never caught each other staring, then," Omi said dryly. "Given that I'm sure I watched you at every possible opportunity."

Chuckling, Ran made sure Omi's wrists were secure in one hand, and reached out with the other to his discarded pants. It only took him a moment of rummaging to find what he wanted, and Omi wriggled against him encouragingly at the sight of the little tube. "Yes," he hissed, arching up again. "Do it, Ran. Please."

"I'm trying to be gentle," Ran said frowning. "I don't want to hurt you. You're not helping."

"Ran." Omi's voice was level, but there was a note of warning in it as he stared up at the older man. " _Fuck_ gentle. You know me better than that. I'm not a girl, and I'm not an innocent. I want you, not a watered down version of you."

He saw heat flare in Ran's eyes, followed by a shadow that burned him hotter than any fire ever could. With a smile that probably would have scared most people but only made Omi want him all the more, Ran flipped the cap on the tube and squeezed a generous amount over his hand. Tossing the tube to one side, he reached down and slicked the cool oil over his cock.

Staring up into his eyes, still struggling intermittently against the grip on his wrists, Omi braced himself and waited. Slowly Ran moved forward, his cock pressing painfully against the entrance to Omi's body.

Taking a deep breath, Omi forced himself to relax. It still hurt, but he knew he could take it. And beyond the hurt it felt so _good_ , like an avalanche of ecstasy just waiting to come crashing down over his head. He wanted more, and he wanted it _now_ , and patience be damned!

Once the head was past the tight ring of muscle that restricted his passage the going was easier, but Ran was still moving almost agonizingly slowly. "Damn it, what did I just say about being gentle?" Omi demanded, writhing and trying to jerk his hips up to impale himself. "Fuck me already, Ran!"

"No," the older man gritted out, his breathing careful as he visibly fought for restraint. "I'm not letting you take control of this from me, Omi, not even verbally. Next time you can be in charge if you want, but I want you to realize you can trust me and _let go_."

"Bastard," Omi accused him, struggling harder. They both knew he could have gotten away if he'd really wanted to, but they also both knew he couldn't do it without hurting Ran. As long as he wasn't willing to do that, he was trapped and effectively helpless.

It was a new sensation for Omi, and he wasn't sure he liked it. Then again, his fighting was inciting the shadows in Ran's eyes to further depths of darkness, and that excited him in turn. If he could just break the redhead of this damnable restraint and get things moving at a more satisfactory pace, it wouldn't have been so bad.

Snarling, he jerked his hips up again. Ran was most of the way inside him at that point, and Omi's movement forced him the rest of the way in. Omi made a triumphant noise, but when he tried to move again he discovered that his hips were now pinned against the mattress by Ran's.

Eyes wide, he tried to buck, then jerked on his arms to try to free his hands. Ran was bigger and heavier than he was, and had all the leverage; Omi couldn't budge. He could move his feet, but at this angle all he could really do was slide them along Ran's calves or wrap his legs around the older man's waist.

The struggling turned into fighting, just short of being in earnest. " _Move_ , damn you," Omi cried, panting. "I know you want it as bad as I do!" He could feel Ran's cock throbbing inside his body with every tiny twisting movement he managed, and he could see the fire and shadows twining in the man's violet eyes and raging ever higher.

Still Ran stayed steady, not moving more than he had to in order to keep Omi tightly pinned. Finally Omi collapsed down into the blankets, his breath sobbing in his lungs as his own neglected cock twitched between them.

Only when he felt Omi's complete surrender did Ran finally start to thrust, and then it was everything Omi could have wanted. The redhead was hard and rough, obviously not holding back in the least as he pounded into Omi hard enough that the younger man knew he would have trouble sitting down for a week.

His hair swayed over them like a living curtain as he thrust, and Omi arched up into every stroke with a soft cry. He was too tired from his earlier struggles to do much more than that, but it seemed to be enough. Ran didn't need much encouragement.

Too quickly Omi felt his orgasm building within him, even without being able to stroke himself. Ran was hitting his prostate on about every other thrust, and that combined with the sheer heat of his wild thrusts was more than enough to push the younger man to the edge. He fought it off, wanting to manage at least this small defiance. In every other encounter he'd ever had, whether he was topping or bottoming, _he_ had always been in control of who came first.

Ran was close too, he could see it in the man's eyes. Omi tried every trick he'd ever learned or heard about, twisting his body and squeezing his inner muscles with every thrust. When the redhead realized what he was doing, he smirked in a way that would have infuriated Omi if it weren't already taking every shred of control he had to keep from coming.

"Do it," he commanded, his hand sliding down and wrapping around Omi's cock, squeezing in time with his thrusts. "Now, Omi. Come for me."

Omi had a split second to realize that his hands were free before he lost the ability to think at all. He thought he screamed as he came; he wasn't sure, lost in the haze of fiery white that ate at his consciousness. He shuddered and convulsed beneath Ran, out of control in every sense of the word.

By the time he came back to Earth, the effort it was taking Ran to maintain his restraint was clearly etched in every line of his face. Too wrung out to even rock up into the older man's continued thrusts, Omi lifted one shaking hand and twined it through Ran's hair, tugging sharply.

With a cry Ran succumbed to his own need, spilling into Omi's body as he pushed in hard and stayed there, shivering. Omi panted against him, feeling the last tremors of aftershocks washing over him in response to Ran's orgasm. When the older man finally collapsed down onto him, Omi couldn't even find the energy to protest the sudden weight.

"Bastard," he accused again, his tone more wondering than vengeful. He couldn't believe he'd let the man so thoroughly master him like that. If _anyone_ else had pulled half of what Ran just had, including Ken and Youji, Omi would have torn a strip off them.

"Actually, my parents were quite happily married," Ran replied, his voice deep and sated. He shifted to one side so he was no longer crushing Omi, and pulled one of the layers of blankets over them to protect their cooling bodies from the cooler air of the room.

"There are degrees of being a bastard," Omi retorted. To his surprise he realized he was grinning, rather like an idiot. And, most shocking of all, he felt more relaxed than he had been in years. What Ran had started earlier with the massage, he'd apparently finished by forcing control out of Omi's hands.

Well, maybe there was something to be said for not _always_ being in control. Drowsy now, Omi punched Ran in the ribs lethargically. "I'm going to make you pay for that," he declared, and was only a little irritated when his words provoked nothing more than a chuckle from his bedmate.

"Unless you're planning to wait a month and a half for your birthday, that means you're going to have to come for dinner some time," Ran pointed out, sleepily content.

"Oh?" Omi raised an eyebrow at him. "You're not leaving just yet, are you? I'm sure I'll have a chance later tonight."

The response to that was a smug little smile, and a grin full of wicked promise that shouldn't have made Omi feel half as aroused as it did, considering how hard he'd just come. He wasn't a teenager any more, damn it.

"You're welcome to try," Ran said. Shivering, Omi closed his eyes and tried to convince himself he wasn't hoping he was going to lose again.


End file.
